CHAPTER XXIIICROSSING THE RHINE
Itwas a memorable day when the Army Boys at last looked upon the Rhine. Again and again that word had been on their lips in the course of the war. A thousand times they had pledged themselves to reach the Rhine. The river was to them a symbol of Germany itself.
Into the city of Coblenz poured the American army in columns that seemed endless. Over the Rhine they went on two bridges that spanned the great river that stretched out like a broad silver ribbon as far as their eyes could see. At last the Rhine was under American control, and a German could not even cross it without permission from an American sentry.
On the other side of the river from Coblenz was the great fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, one of the strongest and most famous in Germany. It covered many acres and stood on a rocky promontory, four hundred feet above the level of the river. It could hold a hundred thousand men if necessary. It had cisterns hewed out of the solidrock that could hold water enough to supply a garrison of eight thousand men for ten years. There were mammoth underground passages and magazines for supplies and ammunition. From its rocky height it seemed to be able to defy the world.
The German flag had floated over the fortress for a hundred years. Now Old Glory was hoisted in its place and the pulses of the boys thrilled as the Stars and Stripes spread out proudly in the breeze.
Part of the army was stationed in Coblenz, but many thousands were placed in the fortress itself, which was henceforth to serve as American barracks.
Then for the first time since they had landed in France the American army really rested. Their main work was done and well done. They had fought the good fight. They had kept the faith.
Not that the army discipline grew lax. The men were kept in shape for any emergency. At a day’s notice if necessary they could resume fighting. But there were many hours every day that they had to themselves and they were as full of high spirits as so many colts turned out to pasture.
On one such day after they had had some good wrestling and boxing matches Billy’s effervescence found vent in an offer to sing them a song“so pathetic that it will bring tears to your eyes.”
“Oh, cut out that stuff,” chaffed Bart. “Isn’t there enough trouble in the world without your singing songs to make us weep?”
“Aw, this isn’t going to be the kind of a song you think it is,” protested Billy. “This song isn’t aimed to make you shed tears of sadness, the one and only idea being to double you up with spontaneous and irresistible laughter. You’ve heard the old saying, haven’t you, ‘to laugh till you cry’? Of course you have, and that’s what I have in mind.”
“I never knew you had a gift for singing comic songs,” said Tom, suspiciously, “and what’s more, I don’t mind going a little further and saying I didn’t know you could sing any kind of a song at all.”
“That just goes to show how ignorant you are,” retorted Billy, “you just wait till you hear me sing this song, and see if it isn’t every bit as good as I say it is.”
“What’s the name of this wonderful composition?” asked Tom.
“The name?” said Billy. “Why, I don’t see any real reason why I shouldn’t tell you. The name of this song is: ‘I Want a Good Egg, and I Want It Bad.’ The accompaniment will be rendered——” but this was as far as he got, as a shout of laughter went up, and he became thetarget for whatever miscellaneous objects happened at that moment to be closest to hand.
“The title to that song is plenty,” observed Frank, when the disturbance had somewhat quieted down; “speaking for myself, I’m not curious to see if the music is as bad as the egg.”
“That’s just it,” said Billy, aggrievedly, “it isn’t as bad, it’s worse. That’s what makes the song so funny.”
“The trouble is,” said Tom, “that you’re about the only one in this man’s army who does like it, so I’d advise you to drop it while you’re still alive and healthy.”
“Oh, all right, then,” said Billy, “if you fellows haven’t got sense enough to recognize a little musical gem when it is offered to you, you can go without. But please remember that you’re the losers, not me.”
“It’s nice of you to feel sorry for us,” said Frank, “but just you save up that song to sing to a bunch of Boches. Of course it will be hard even on the Huns, but they’re used to atrocities by this time.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Billy in an injured tone. “I know a German isn’t much good, but with all their faults they do appreciate good music.”
“Yes, but we weren’t talking aboutgoodmusic,” remarked Bart pointedly.
“I don’t seem to make a hit with this crowd,” said Billy plaintively. “One of you fellows see if you can do better.”
“I heard a good joke the other day,” volunteered Tom, “and I wouldn’t mind telling it if somebody coaxed me a little bit.”
“Consider yourself coaxed,” said Bart. “Go ahead and shoot the works.”
“Well,” said Tom, “it seems that in one of the recruiting camps an officer was questioning some of the men with an idea of finding out what they would do in a certain emergency. As he went down the line, he came to a darky.
“‘Now, ’Rastus,’ the officer said, ‘suppose you were out in an open field on scouting duty, and suddenly you saw a whole regiment of Germans running toward you, bayonets fixed and ready for business. What would you do?’
“‘Whut would ah do? Why, boss, ah wouldn’t do a thing. Ah’d just say tuh mah feet: “Feet, do yuh duty,” and, boss, ah’m mighty suah dey would.’”